


hellfire month

by Edgebug



Series: harpy!Oswald 'verse [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Fluff without Plot, M/M, Wing Grooming, Wingfic, harpy!Oswald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3972142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgebug/pseuds/Edgebug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oswald is shedding his winter plumage and there are feathers <i>everywhere.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	hellfire month

**Author's Note:**

> just something short and silly that popped to mind and wouldn't go away. poor Ozzie.

The first thing Jim notices when he walks in the door is that there are feathers everywhere and Oswald is sitting on the sofa looking miserable.

"Oz! What happened to you?" Feathers litter the ground and Jim awkwardly tries not to step on them as he makes his way over to the couch. Oswald groans and scratches at his right wing with his left wrist talons. More feathers come free. "Are you sick?"

"No, no." Oswald's talons pull back and a grip full of feathers comes with it, he groans and lets them flutter to the ground. "It's just hellfire month. It's normal. Happens every year when summer starts." The feathers settle onto the ground with dozens more like them.

Jim blinks. Oswald's flight feathers are falling out too, leaving his wings looking... patchy, at best, and definitely not very flightworthy. "When summer... Oz, are you _molting?"_

Oswald stares blankly up at him for a long second. "No, Gordon, I'm creating a chrysalis, I'm going to hibernate for a month and then become a beautiful butterfly--of _course_ I'm molting!" he squawks, "what does it _look_ like I'm doing?!"

Jim mentally marks down 'irritability' on Oswald's list of symptoms. "Jeez, sorry, it was a stupid question. I'm not used to all the bird stuff yet." Jim settles down next to Oz, brushing feathers off the couch before he does so.

"No, it's--" Oswald sighs and shakes his head. "I shouldn't have snapped. It's just, this is unpleasant every single year. We grow in thick downy feathers for the winter and then have to shed all of them out for summer."

Oswald kind of resembles a pinecone--his feathers are so out-of-whack, falling out and poking other feathers as they do so. Oz hates having his feathers ungroomed, so Jim can only imagine how unpleasant this is. "Does it hurt?"

Oswald whines. "It itches, mainly."

Jim thinks for a second. "You need some help? I can comb through your wings for you and pull out loose feathers as I go."

"That'd be nice," Oswald says, and extends a wing for Jim to get started.

By the time he's finished, Oswald somehow looks even more pathetic, but seems happier, so there's that.

-

It's maybe two days later when Jim notices the little needle-like things growing among Oswald's patchy, shedding feathers. He notices because he sees Oswald absently scratching with his talons, then sees the little grey-white stick things. "What the hell is that?" he asks, full of his usual tact and grace.

"New feathers," Oswald groans, "in their sheaths. Gotta--gotta get the sheaths off but they aren't loose yet and--" he looks pained, "they itch!"

Jim steps closer and combs his fingers through the feathers at Oswald's shoulder. God, the new feathers are _everywhere_ , and they are awfully poky against his fingertips. Jim idly scratches at the tender skin beneath the new feathers and Oswald practically purrs, shoving up closer to Jim's hand. "That really is itching you, isn't it?" Jim sighs, then peers closer. "Have you lost your _crest?"_

"It came out today, most of it," Oswald grumbles, "it'll grow in soon enough, I can already feel the new feathers."

The more Jim looks, the more new feathers he notices. If he thought Oswald looked like a pinecone _before_ , he looks _infinitely_ more like one now. "So we've just got to get rid of those coverings on those new feathers. Then they'll fluff out and not itch you so much anymore, right?"

"Mmhmm."

"How do you usually deal with it?"

Oswald gives a joyless huff of laughter before he speaks. "Suffering and waiting, mainly."

Jim thinks for a second, fingers still distractedly scritching Oswald's wing. "I may have an idea."

"I'm all ears."

"Seems to me like a warm bath should loosen the sheaths up and then I can help you preen them away. Even if it doesn't work, it's worth a shot. It should help with the itching, even if it's just short-term."

Oswald thinks about it for a second. "Worth a try."

-

That's how Jim ends up in a bath as warm as he can stand with a harpy. Oswald is situated between Jim's legs, lying back against his chest, his wings and shoulders under the hot water. Jim's methodically working over every part of Oswald that's feathered, rubbing circles with his fingertips against new feathers and old alike, periodically skimming shed feathers from the water's surface and dumping them overboard.

Oswald looks roughly like he's just arrived in heaven. Jim can only imagine the relief this is--he's never grown feathers before, thank god, but when he goes a few days without shaving his face starts to itch so he supposes maybe it's a little like that, only a million times worse. "Feeling any better?" Jim asks, and Oswald deigns to crack one eye open, craning back to look at Jim briefly before settling back down comfortably against his chest.

He gives a sleepy chirp in reply, little more than a _peep_ , and Jim's enough used to Oswald's sounds that he knows that one meant _ohh, yeah._ Oswald's chirps and squawks and bars of birdsong used to be weird to Jim, used to be alien and unknowable, but now? Now they're as natural to Jim as breathing. Just another layer of communication. Oswald's English voice is soft and sweet and so is his birdsong.

Jim works his way down Oswald's shoulders and wings. Those feather casings were tough at first but now they feel more pliable, and Jim carefully works at one for a few seconds before it rubs away and Jim dumps it over the side of the tub with the pile of shed feathers. The feather is tightly curled so Jim carefully uncurls it, straightens it out.

One down, a million to go. Oh, well. The water's still warm and Oswald is purring in his lap. There's worse ways Jim could be spending his evening, all in all.

It really doesn't take too long--half an hour, maybe. Forty-five minutes? They have to refill the tub with new water once because it goes cold, so maybe longer. But finally Oswald is free of feather sheaths and they pull themselves out of the tub. Jim's aiming a blow dryer at Oswald's wings, fondly watching him fluff out and preen.

"Well, I'm glad that's over with," Jim says, and Oswald looks at him sideways.

"It's not over for another two weeks," he says slowly. "I'm still a patchy mess. There's more feathers to grow in. There's a reason harpies call this 'hellfire month.'"

Jim groans.

-

Finally, two weeks and uncountable warm baths later, Oswald is back to his sleek, perfectly groomed self, and he announces that this year's molt is over.

"Thank you for all your help, J-Jim. Honestly, I would have suffered without you," Oswald says as he curls up close to Jim's side.

"Anything for you, Oz. That wasn't so bad when we figured out how to deal with it, huh?"

"Not bad," Oswald agrees. "You'll help me in the fall too when my winter plumage grows in, right?"

Jim buries his face in his hands. "Yeah, Oz. Anything for you."


End file.
